


stand back where you stood

by alotofthingsdifferent



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Long Distance Relationship, M/M, breakup makeup, small town AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-21
Updated: 2015-07-21
Packaged: 2018-04-10 13:20:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4393445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alotofthingsdifferent/pseuds/alotofthingsdifferent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>life isn't easy. neither is love. but you find a way.</p>
<p>snapshots from a love story. </p>
<p>(Inspired by Brent Seabrook's hands. Don't ask.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	stand back where you stood

**Author's Note:**

  * For [folignos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/folignos/gifts).



> For my Jay. 
> 
> Big thanks to Melissa for helping me finish this!
> 
> Find me on [tumblr!](http://alotofthingsdifferent.tumblr.com)

"I have no idea what happened," Brandon says, his hands on his head in exasperation. "It just started smoking."

The mechanic -- a guy Brandon recognizes from last year’s graduating class -- has the hood of Brandon's beat-up Pontiac propped open, his head ducked underneath. His white tshirt is stained with black grease in spots, and it lays smoothly over his broad shoulders, showing off the long planes of muscle in his back.

"When's the last time you changed the oil?" he asks as he pulls the nearly-dry dipstick from the engine. He's smirking, and Brandon's stomach somersaults. 

"I don't know," he says sheepishly. "My brother usually takes care of that."

The guy stands and wipes the grease from his hands onto his jeans. It leave dark streaks on the denim stretched tightly over his thighs, and Brandon has to remember to keep his eyes up.

"It's an easy fix," he says. "I can have it done in a bit."

Brandon groans, thinking about his meager bank account. Part of the deal when his parents bought the car was that Brandon and George take care of all the maintenance. Brandon has a part-time job at the local movie theater, but it doesn’t pay much, and after taxes and car insurance, he’s not left with a lot. "What's it gonna cost me?"

The guy smiles then, swipes his hand over his forehead to brush his dark hair back. "Depends."

"On what?” Brandon asks with a tilt of his head.

"If you're going to let me take you out after."

Brandon's eyes go a little wide, and his cheeks go hot. "I don't even know your name," he manages, and the guy grins, holding out his hand. 

"Brent," he says, and Brandon’s hand feels small in his strong grip.

Brandon says yes.

\---

"I had fun," Brent says, smiling at Brandon like he’s never meant anything as much. They're standing at Brandon's door, the porch light illuminating the small space they're sharing, and Brandon has never in his seventeen years of life wanted to kiss someone more than he wants to kiss Brent right now.

Maybe the stars have aligned and heard Brandon's wish, or maybe Brent wants to kiss him just as badly, but whatever it is, Brent's hand is cupping his face, stroking down his jaw and back to cup his neck, long fingers tangling in Brandon's hair.

The kiss is just the lightest brush of lips on lips, but Brent's hand is strong at the base of his skull, holding him close while they breathe each other in.

The porch light flickers, signaling Brandon's time is up, and they break apart, all shy smiles and stolen glances. 

Brent touches his face again, whispers "G'night", and disappears down the driveway. 

\--

“You’re so hot,” Brent mumbles into Brandon’s neck, and Brandon squirms, only stilling when Brent gets a big hand up under his shirt, the skin of his palm warm on Brandon’s ribcage while he holds him still. 

They’re parked out back of Brent’s parents’ land, far enough from the house that no one’s going to bother them. Brandon’s lying on his back in the bed of the pickup, one of Brent’s legs thrown over his thigh and Brent’s arms bracketing his sides. They’d spent most of the evening at a low-key party down the road, a bunch of guys from school and some of their girlfriends, until Brent had whispered “you wanna get outta here?” and Brandon followed him out.

They’re only four dates in, and Brandon’s already hooked on the way Brent looks at him.

Brandon sucks in a breath when Brent’s fingers skim over the waistband of his jeans. “Wanna touch you,” Brent whispers, like he’s afraid someone other than the crickets will hear. “Fuck, B, I wanna --” His hand slips lower, cups Brandon’s dick through the denim. Brandon groans and screws his eyes shut, his neck going hot. “Can I?”

Brandon nods, opening his eyes when he feels Brent’s hand on his face, his thumb working Brandon’s lower lip out from where it’s tucked between his teeth. He leans in and kisses Brandon softly as he works his jeans open, easing the zipper down before slipping his hand inside to draw Brandon out.

Brandon’s gotten hand jobs before. He’s jerked off plenty, too, but none of that compares to the feeling of Brent’s hand on his dick. His grip is just right, and when he twists his wrist and presses his thumb just below the ridge at the head, Brandon cries out, bucking his hips and spilling over Brent’s fist before he really even gets started.

It’s both the hottest and most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to him. 

It keeps happening, too, for the rest of the summer.

Brandon’s not complaining.

\--

“I think that’s the last of it,” Brent says as he sets yet another box down on the floor, next to all the others. Brandon sits down on the edge of his twin bed and and looks around the room, with its blank white walls and small closets. There’s an identical bed on the wall across from his, already made up with his roommate’s bedding.

The bed dips with Brent’s weight as he sits down next to Brandon. “You ok?”

Brandon nods and leans against Brent, relaxing into him when Brent’s hand covers his kneecap. “Just can’t believe this is really happening.”

“You’re gonna be _great_ ,” Brent says firmly, brushing his lips over Brandon’s temple. “You’re brilliant, B. Can’t waste that back in podunk, y’know?” Brandon nods, but his stomach is still in knots. Going to college an entire state away from home was never in his life plan -- his family isn’t wealthy, and Brandon felt selfish letting his parents pay for school -- but they’d offered a scholarship he couldn’t refuse, and their engineering program is top notch. It was a no-brainer.

Brent turns his palm up when Brandon covers his hand with his own. His fingers fit easily between Brent’s, like they were meant to be there, and his stomach twists anxiously again. “Brent, I --”

They’re interrupted by Brandon’s roommate bounding loudly into the room. “Hey! You must be Brandon,” he says, holding out his hand. “I’m Andy, nice to meet you!”

Brandon lets his hand slip from Brent’s reluctantly and takes Andy’s. 

It doesn’t feel the same.

\--

“You said you were coming this weekend,” Brandon says to his laptop, angling the screen away from from Andy’s prying eyes. 

“I know,” Brent says apologetically, “But I picked up a shift at the restaurant and I can use the money, B. You know how it is.”

“I miss you,” Brandon says quietly. “It’s been _months_.” They haven’t seen each other in person since Christmas, actually, and even then, their time together wasn’t much. 

“I miss you too, babe,” Brent replies, and the way he sighs makes Brandon miss him even more. “You’re almost done for the summer, right? Another month or so? We can wait, right?”  
Brandon drags a hand over his face and leans in closer. “Yeah. I guess.”

Brent puts his hand out, palm against the screen, and Brandon mimics him. “I love you,” he says, and Brandon imagines he can feel the warmth of Brent’s palm against his own.

It’s not enough.

\--

The only light in the room is spilling from where Brent’s standing in front of the open refrigerator. Brandon moves in behind him and hooks his chin over Brent’s shoulder.

“What’s going on?” he asks, but Brent shrugs him off and closes the fridge. He sits down at the kitchen table and puts his head in his hands. “Brent?”

“This was a bad idea,” Brent says into the darkness, so quietly that Brandon can barely hear him. His stomach drops as he sits down next to him, huddling in close. 

“What was a bad idea?”

Brent’s face is buried in his hands, his expression completely hidden. “I shouldn’t have come here. I should have stayed --”

“Don’t say that,” Brandon snaps. “Don’t say that, Brent, you don’t mean --”

Brent slams his hands down hard on the table and Brandon jumps, startled. “You’re never even _here_ , Brandon,” Brent shouts. “You’re always out with Andy, or out studying, or hanging out at the Union with all your _friends_.”

Brandon stares at him, gaping. “Are you _jealous_?” he asks, accusatory.

Brent laughs bitterly. “Why am I here, Brandon? Why am I renting a fucking apartment in a city that I hate, surrounded by people who don’t like me because I’m not _smart_ \--”

“Don’t say that,” Brandon cuts him off. “You _are_ smart, you’re just not --”

“Just not smart _enough_ ,” Brent finishes. “I’m a mechanic, B, and that’s all I’ll ever be. I’m not gonna be a biologist like Shawzy, or a doctor like Sharpy, or a fucking _engineer_ like you. All I’m ever gonna be is a mechanic, and that’s. Obviously not enough.”

“Not enough for who?” Brandon asks quietly. 

 

“This was a mistake,” Brent says, ignoring the question, his chair making a loud scraping sound as he stands up from the table. Brandon grabs his wrist, but Brent snatches it away like he’s been burned and pulls his fist back, slamming it into the kitchen wall.

Brandon scrambles to his feet, eyes wide, and stares at Brent’s back. His shoulders are heaving with each breath he takes, his head hanging in defeat.

“Brent,” Brandon says gently and touches Brent’s elbow. When Brent doesn’t move, Brandon slides in behind him, his chest to Brent’s back, and wraps his arms around him, holding him tight.

“We’ll figure it out,” he whispers, then notices the blood oozing from Brent’s knuckles. “C’mon,” he says, leading Brent out of the kitchen. “Lets get you cleaned up.”

There’s a gaping hole in the kitchen wall.

Brandon’s not sure how they’re going to fix any of it.

\--

Brandon’s head falls back and hits the wall with a thud when David gets his hand on his dick. He palms Brandon’s length through his jeans, squeezes too gently, bites softly at Brandon’s neck like he doesn’t know if he’s allowed.

Brandon rolls his hips and thinks about how pretty David’s mouth is, how sweet he’d been on their first date, how he’d pulled out Brandon’s chair and kissed him lightly on the cheek at the end of the night.

And then Brent’s smiles flashes behind his eyelids as David’s hands cup his face.

It’s been months since Brent moved back to the small town where they grew up, and Brandon should be getting over it. He should be moving on, living his life, forgetting about the future he’d hoped for and looking toward a new one. Instead, he thinks about their old apartment across town, imagines the perfect imprint of Brent's fist in the kitchen wall, hidden beneath layers of spackle and paint, and wonders if that fight that ended everything left an echo there, a hollow sadness like the one Brandon feels with each passing day.

“Hey,” David says quietly, dragging his lips over Brandon’s jaw. “Where’d you go?”

Brandon swallows the ball of emotion in his throat and fists his hands in David’s shirt, pulling him in. They stop talking after that. Brandon lets David peel him out of his clothes, ease him onto the bed and get between his legs. His mouth is hot and wet around Brandon’s dick; Brandon has to close his eyes and look away, feeling guilty for conjuring an image of Brent’s face in his mind, of Brent sucking him off, one big hand wrapped around the base of his cock. 

David’s hands are soft. Gentle. 

It’s nowhere near the same.

He comes down David’s throat with a soft sound and throws one arm over his face, the wetness in the corners of his eyes wiped off on his skin. David presses a kiss to his hip and settles in beside him, his hand resting on Brandon’s lower belly.

It’s not what Brandon wants, but he knows it’s what he needs.

They keep hooking up, and by the fourth time, Brandon almost manages to stop comparing David to Brent.

He breaks it off anyway. 

\--

The bell above the door jingles when Brandon pushes it open, and it’s like stepping into a time machine that sends him back to being seventeen and walking in here for the first time, just a stupid kid who forgot to change the oil in his car. He’s older now, a college graduate, but he still feels the same. 

“Be right with you!” someone calls from the office near the back, and Brandon’s heart rate kicks up. 

He’d know that voice anywhere. He still hears it in his dreams.

“Sorry about that,” Brent’s saying, and his voice is getting closer. “Just had to finish up some --” he trails off when he spots Brandon, stops dead in the middle of the shop.

“Hey,” Brandon says quietly. His hands are shoved in the back pockets of his jeans, and he shifts anxiously from one foot to the other. Brent looks exactly the same. His hair is a little longer, hanging into his eyes until he pushes it back with one hand, but his shoulders are just as broad, and his jeans fit him exactly as they always have. His arms are streaked with grease, and his hands are clenching and unclenching at his sides. “Do you have time for an oil change?”

Brent huffs out a laugh and runs both hands through his hair, leaving them on top of his head for a long moment.

“Jesus, Brandon. Warn a guy, would ya?” 

Brandon smiles sheepishly, the tension in his shoulders easing. “Sorry,” he offers with a shrug. “I have to head back tomorrow, and I’m much more responsible about vehicle maintenance nowadays.”

Brent smiles then, slow and easy, and Brandon’s suddenly not sure this was a good idea. He thought his heart was ready, but he may have been wrong.

“I think I can fit you in,” Brent says, and then he’s right there, standing just a few feet from Brandon. Brandon reminds himself to breath in and out, slowly, and Brent smiles again. “It’s good to see you, man,” he says softly, and Brandon nods.

“Yeah,” he replies. “You too.”

“I think I can fit you in,” Brent says, “It’s been a slow day.” He holds his hand out, and Brandon stares at it before finally getting the picture and pressing his keys into Brent’s palm.

He clears his throat, shifts from foot to foot again. “What’s it gonna cost me?” he asks, and he watches Brent’s Adam’s apple bob when he swallows, doesn’t miss the way the corner of Brent’s mouth twitches, like he’s trying not to smile.

“Depends,” he says, and when their eyes meet, Brandon’s heart flip-flops. 

It’s different this time. Brent has his own place just outside of town, a tiny rambler with one bedroom and a half-bath. They make out on Brent’s couch, not in the bed of Brent’s truck, and when Brent’s fingers skirt over the soft skin on Brandon’s belly, he doesn’t ask permission.

But his hands are the same. The way his fingers fit around Brandon’s dick, the way they cradle the back of Brandon’s neck while they kiss -- it’s all familiar. It’s everything Brandon’s been missing and everything he tells himself he can never have.

“I got a job,” he tells Brent after, with Brent pressed up against his side, sweaty and naked and beautiful. “A really good job.”

“That’s great, Brandon,” Brent mumbles into his neck. “That’s really great. Congratulations.” He sounds so sincere that Brent can’t help himself.

“I still love you,” he admits, the words tumbling out his mouth before he can stop them.

Brent goes very still, and Brandon tenses, preparing himself for the inevitable blow. Instead, Brent splays the fingers of one hand over Brandon’s heart and kisses behind his ear.

“I never stopped,” Brandon goes on. “I never -- I’m sorry if I ever made you think you weren’t good enough, I _never_ \--”

“It’s my fault,” Brent says into his neck. “I was insecure and jealous, and the city just -- you know that’s not for me, Brandon. It never was.”

“I should have made more time for you,” Brandon says, covering Brent’s hand with his own. “I should have --”

“And I should have been more supportive,” Brent interrupts. “I was so proud of you, B, I just -- didn’t think I fit into your life anymore.”

They’re silent for a long while, until Brent finally sighs, shifting next to him. “We both made mistakes,” he says. “It happens. What’s done is done.”

Brandon swallows and turns on his side. Brent rests his hand on Brandon’s hip, his thumb drawing small figure eights over Brandon’s skin. “It’s close,” Brandon says softly, and Brent frowns, confused. 

“What’s close?”

“The job,” he says. “Next town over.”

Brent stares at him for a second, then grins, a laugh bubbling from his lips. “You took a job in Johnsville? Are you kidding me?”

Brandon shrugs. “They got a ton of money from the state to develop the area,” he explains. “They needed a civil engineer, and they liked what I had to say.”

Brent brushes his nose against Brandon’s. “I’m so fucking proud of you,” he whispers, and when they kiss again, Brandon starts to think maybe he can have what he wants after all.

\--

“I can’t believe it’s done,” Brandon says, staring at the numbers “2007” on the house front. “Brent, it’s -- wow. It’s amazing.”

Brent hums appreciatively and winds an arm around Brandon’s waist, pulling him in so they’re standing hip to hip, Brandon in his his suit and tie, Brent in his staple white tshirt and loose carpenter jeans. 

The wrap-around porch is reminiscent of the house Brandon grew up in, and the porch light mimics the one they stood under when they shared their first kiss. 

“You like it?” Brent asks, and Brandon nods, still in awe of the fact that Brent built this house from the bottom up with his own hands. He had help, of course, but it’s his blood, sweat, and tears standing in front of them, months and months of hard work, of sore muscles and sunburns. “C’mon, come inside,” Brent says, and laces his fingers with Brandon’s, leading him up the stairs. “Wait, hang on,” he says suddenly, and they stop just before the front door while Brent fumbles for the key in his pocket.

He’s on one knee before Brandon realizes what’s happening. He holds out one hand, and Brandon’s heart leaps to his throat. The black box looks delicate in the big circle of Brent’s palm. 

“Marry me, B,” Brent says softly, his eyes shining.

Brandon hopes the tears in his own eyes are all the answer Brent needs, because at the moment, he doesn’t trust his own voice. Brent opens the box, and Brandon’s hand trembles when Brent slides the ring on his finger. He holds Brandon’s hand in his, kisses each of Brandon’s knuckles before getting to kiss feet and pushing Brandon up against the red front door.

He cups Brandon’s face in his hands and kisses him beneath the glow of the porch light. Brandon’s never felt more at home.

\--

“I’ll be right back,” Brandon promises, looking from Brent to the bathroom and back again. A hot shower is calling his name, but Brent looks so cozy on the bed that he considers scrapping the whole thing and curling up beside him instead.

“Go,” Brent says softly, waving an arm in the direction of the bathroom. “We’ll be here when you get back.”

Brandon smiles then, suddenly overcome with emotion at the sight of Brent on the bed, Alice sleeping soundly on his shoulder. She’s wrapped in a soft lavender swaddle, and Brent’s hand covers her whole back side, so that all Brandon can see of her is her sweet pink face and her shock of dark hair. She looks just like Brent, everyone says so, and Brandon cannot believe how lucky he is.

“Just one kiss first,” Brandon says quietly, loosening his tie as he walks towards the bed. Brent puckers his lips and Brandon laughs softly, ignoring him and brushing a kiss over Alice’s forehead.

“I see how it is,” Brent teases. “Someone stole your heart right out from under me.”

“Nah,” Brandon says and kisses Brent softly. He sits on the bed as gently as he can, curls up against Brent’s side, Alice’s breath warm on his cheek. “There’s plenty of room for both of you in there.”

“I thought you were gonna shower,” Brent says, his free hand curling around one of Brandon’s. 

“Mm,” Brandon says, and stifles a yawn. “This is better.”

“Yeah,” Brent agrees, and Brandon closes his eyes. “Yeah, B. It sure is.”


End file.
